It’s 2 a.m. The middle of the night. You get a call from that “someone special.” He’s a guy that you think is cute – so cute, in fact, that he has you jumping through hoops. Each day, you get butterflies when you see him. You hope he likes you as much as you like him. But, often, you get rejected. The cold shoulder. A stink-eye. A frown of disdain. However, tonight he’s called you for a middle-of-the-night rendezvous. You were in the middle of a wonderful dream but he jarringly woke you up on a whim. He’s interested in you, but only on his terms. And right at this very moment he wants you bad.
Maybe ten years ago I would have been talking about a crush, a guy you occasionally dated, a booty call. But now, however, jumping ahead into your present life, I’m talking about your baby. Your sweet sack of want and need. Or, in other words, your “fuss buddy.”
Your fuss buddy wants you, all right. But he wants you for all the wrong reasons. He doesn’t care that you have a Master’s degree in engineering or that you are a gregarious conversationalist. It doesn’t matter that you can play the piccolo or recite entire dialogues from Shaw’s plays while standing on your head. Nor does he pay any mind to your appearance, level of fatigue, or the subtext of your repetitive sighs. Nope. He only cares about one thing: milk. And his desire for it is insatiable, seeming to be as endless as the day-to-day moments they call life.
So, you come to him. You have no choice. He holds you in the palm of his tiny hand. You are his to do with as he pleases. Like a zombie, you traipse across the carpeted hall hoping that this time will be quick. Though you love him, though you tell yourself you don’t mind catering to his many needs, the time has come when you are approaching a desire to have a few of your needs met, too. You plan to have a little talk with him. Maybe today will be the night!
You enter the room. This is it. You want to tell him how you really feel. You want to open your insides and let it all shine through. But, just when you’re about to dish out a heaping spoonful of your honest emotions, you hold back. You’re afraid you might scare him off. And, after all, you really do like him. You hope he’ll keep calling you. If only he would do it during the sunny, day-lit hours instead of the crusty under-belly of nightfall.
Your needs – you try to remember them. Maybe a six-hour stretch of blissful slumber in those new sheets you bought last year. A hot meal that can be consumed with enough leisure to enjoy a meal’s flavors and textures. Perhaps a quiet, uninterrupted viewing of American Idol or The Walking Dead. Something you can call your own. Something that reminds you of yourself before you met this guy. Alas, the you that once lived no longer exists. And the needs you once found to be so crucial now only reside in the deep banks of your memory. All that remains is who you are because of this guy.
Sleep-deprived. Dowdy. A little resentful. Clumsy. Even, at times, hopeless and melancholy. But, on top of all of these things, and perhaps even despite them, you are aimlessly, ridiculously, so completely in love with this guy – the same guy who screams at you, disrespects your needs and even releases disgusting bodily fluids on you daily – you can hardly think straight.
You are a woman in love. The milk stains are just a badge that depicts this love more truly than any other merit badge you may have
achieved in the past. Yes, love. It’s what you feel despite the torture. It’s what you embody despite the suffering. It’s what you give despite the lack of its immediate return. You will do anything for this guy – this fuss buddy – and you will do it because of that one emotion. The only difference between now and ten years ago is that, this time, it is the real deal. And, this time your guy will love you back. Eventually.